Micro Musing: Caught You!

"Caught You!"

My dad’s voice coming from down the dark hallway made me jump. It was 9 o’clock at night. My daughter had crashed early after a long weekend — asleep by 6:30 PM. I was worn out too, after several days of extra physical struggles.

A few hours earlier, I’d popped in my headphones, turned on a TV show to drown out the silence, and started coloring on my phone. I was avoiding being productive. I was avoiding writing. I was avoiding dealing with the emotions rumbling around in my heart and soul.

Half-listening, half-escaping, the TV show on my iPad soon caught my attention. It portrayed a loving wife standing at her husband’s bedside as a nurse disconnected him from life support. Pictures of their life together flashed across the screen. I stopped coloring, and my eyes filled with tears as the grief playing out before me reminded me of my own sadness.

About 9,000 miles away, my precious foreign exchange daughter, Foann, is burying her father. We’ve texted back and forth over the last few days of his illness, and my heart aches for the overwhelming grief and sadness she is facing.

How can I be there for her when an ocean separates us? How do I carry her grief from so far away? How do I encourage her heart when her understanding of Jesus and the Bible is still so new? How do I support her, her mother, and her brother in one of the most painful moments of their lives? And did I mention the 9,000 miles and 12-hour time difference?

I’m emphatically sad tonight — the kind of sad that feels like it leaks out the pores of my skin and then causes me to make questionable eating decisions.

My father’s earlier “Caught you!” referenced the fact that I had stood and walked five feet along the countertop without a walker. Rule #1 broken.

Grief makes rebels of us all sometimes. Like we’re fighting to maintain control in one part of life while it’s being stripped away in another.

The container of Cap’n Crunch next to an empty bowl was the clue to Rule #2 being broken: no eating of sugary goodness as a diabetic.

But maybe the biggest issue was telling myself that gorging on food might just make tonight feel a little better. As I put bite after bite of cereal into my mouth, the ache of my heart grew, and my tears spilled over.

This week has carried a lot of grief — personal grief, my 10-year-old daughter Lovie’s grief, and my Foann’s grief.

On some nights, ache has felt louder than faith — but faith still whispers quietly, drawing me into Christ’s embrace.

With tears still making their way down my face, I tell myself that tomorrow is a new day. A day where I will seek joy in the pain, yet also warmly embrace the grief of life. A new day where I give myself permission to cry — and permission to laugh through the tears.

Looking to God’s Word, I remind myself of truth: that He only gives good gifts and that He will never leave me. While I readily admit these don’t feel true in this moment, I can look back over my shoulder — to times when life fell apart on far more epic levels — and see His hands sustaining me. He hasn’t taken away the grief or the hardship, but He has faithfully carried me through it to the other side.

And He hasn’t changed. Because He can’t change. So, He can do it again for me now like He’s done in the past.

He faithfully cares about my heart’s status.

So, I start tomorrow with open arms — ready to embrace both the ache and the awe of a life with Jesus.

Maybe this is a picture of what Dōlightful™ Living really looks like in flesh and bones.

And if you’re here too… Surrounded by grief, sadness, and pain. Still needing space to process those emotions before healing can begin. But also eager to experience a little taste of hope and joy. Both. Together.

Will you sit with me in my pain? No words. No quick fixes. Just presence.

I’ll sit with you.

Together.

AfterSight™

A holy pause, asking the questions that linger after the words have been read.

• AfterSight One:  When was the last time you found yourself avoiding your emotions — distracting your heart instead of tending to it?

  
  

• AfterSight Two: What does faith’s “quiet whisper” sound like to you when ache feels louder?

  
  

• AfterSight Three: If you were to describe what Dōlightful™ Living looks like in your own flesh and bones right now, what would it be?